Oh that kitty boy, that cat of mine - Trevor.
He’s a prince of a tabby.
Beefy, strong and loyal, one couldn’t ask for a better pet.
Except…
Except he gets anxious when the people aren’t around.
And when he gets anxious he has trouble peeing.
After that?
Crystals.
After that?
Trevor goes to spend the night at the cat hospital and my prospects of buying a new bicycle become more dim.
I like to spoil Trevor.
He’s an indoor cat who’d rather be ouside.
We keep him inside so he can’t do what he was born to do: Piss in the neighbours gardens and kill cardinals.
I know, I’m mean by not allowing him to satisfy his blood lust.
And though I have one neighbour whose garden I’d be happy if Trevor tore up, I have a few others who I like enough to preserve their daffodils.
So Trevor is a bit of a prisoner.
As a prisoner he gets supervised yard time.
Sometimes he chases leaves. Other times, I play with sticks that he chases along the ground. It’s a fun game for him to satisfy the ya ya’s that come from having the …
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